


Red Letter

by ohwise1ne



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Rey (Star Wars), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Omega Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwise1ne/pseuds/ohwise1ne
Summary: His old name—the one no one calls him anymore, no one evenknows—stretches in bold lettering across the front of the envelope.There is no record of that person living in this apartment building. Ben has made sure of it.They’ve found him anyway.When Ben is summoned to be bonded with a compatible Alpha mate, everything he’s worked for comes crashing down—especially when she turns out to be the rising protégé of his enemy.





	1. Summons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crossingwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/gifts).



> For crossingwinter, who constantly blesses this fandom with her wit, her porn and her beautiful prose. I hope you enjoy <3

When the envelope finally arrives, it is just like any other.

The letter is tucked between the morning’s issue of The Post and today’s anonymous hate mail—though lately Ben struggles to differentiate between the two. He might have missed it entirely, were it not for the bright red stamp on the seal, the Omega symbol a damning round curve protruding from the wax.

His coffee mug shatters spectacularly when it crashes across the tile. 

The world starts to tilt, and Ben sinks into the kitchen chair so that he doesn’t tip over as well. No. It can’t be. It has to be a mistake. A wrong address, perhaps. No one could possibly—no one even  _ knows _ that he—

But when he flips it over, his apartment number is printed clear as day on the front. His old name—the one no one calls him anymore, no one even  _ knows— _ stretches in bold lettering above his address.

There is no record of that person living in this apartment building. Ben has made sure of it.

They’ve found him anyway. 

* * *

“Have you lost your damn mind?”

Hux is nearly shouting on the other end of the phone. Grimacing, Ben pulls it away from his ear. Even from this distance, he can hear Hux continue his tirade, tinny and furious:

“—the interview with the Herald, your time slot on EBS—” 

“You’ll need to do it instead.”

Hux splutters with outrage. “I am a busy man, Ren. I have appointments.”

“Change them.” He fastens the last button on his shirt and straightens it in front of the mirror. “Have Phasma take them. I don’t care what you do, but figure it out.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to explain your absence?”

He turns to examine his profile. “Personal emergency.”

“It is imperative that we stay on top of this story, Ren.”

“Then stay on top of it.”

“They will accuse us of hiding. If you are not making the morning show circuit, it is all but an admission of defeat.”

Ben leans forward, studying his reflection. He looks exhausted. Unprepared. “We hired you to spin, Hux. So  _ spin it _ .”

“Ren.” Hux’s voice strains at some crude imitation of patience. “You must understand the situation we’re in. What could possibly be more important than defending the validity of this company’s mission?”

On the dresser, the red slip is unfolded beside its envelope. Its purpose is immediately apparent from the color of the paper alone, even without the damning word printed in boldface across the top:  **SUMMONS.**

Ben struggles with the temptation to crush it in his fist.

“A personal emergency,” he repeats, then hangs up the phone.

* * *

It will be simple.

He will go to the Department of Designation Services—a laughably bland name for a government agency explicitly designed to ruin lives. He will meet whichever Alpha had the misfortune of matching with Kylo Ren. He will make it apparent very quickly that he is not a suitable mate for anyone, let alone this stranger that the government believes has the proper biochemical makeup to take over Ben’s life. He will do whatever it takes to ensure that this  _ compatible Alpha— _ the letter’s terminology, not his—will never want to see his face ever again.

Then he will return to his new life, where no one but Snoke is any wiser to his terrible secret.

Crammed in the corner of a metro car, Ben repeats this line of reasoning to himself at least a dozen times. He longs to take the envelope from his jacket pocket, just to make sure this hasn’t all been some cruel nightmare—that the address really  _ does _ say his name. 

Each time, he stops himself. 

He cannot risk anyone catching sight of the broken scarlet seal on the back—or worse, the flash of red stationery within. 

Ben leans back against the seat, trying to remain calm as the car brings him closer and closer to his fate. It will be simple. There is no way this Alpha will expect someone like  _ Ben _ to answer the summons. Omegas are supposed to be docile. Eager to please. Thrilled at the opportunity to sign away their basic human rights to a complete stranger with a control complex.

It’s why Ben has been able to successfully live as a Beta for so long.

When the train glides to a smooth stop at the station for City Center, Ben follows the tide of suits and blazers out onto the platform. A few cars down, the designated each pour out of their respective cars—separate, in order to protect them from each other. And from the rest of humanity.

Ben feels his shameful secret like a hot brand in his jacket pocket. With renewed determination, he follows the sea of Betas up the escalator.

It will be simple.

Ben is going to do everything in his power to make this Alpha regret ever meeting him.

* * *

The Center is a soaring structure of steel and glass, casting a shadow over the city's only green space. It is the only place that makes Ben Solo feel small. Especially now that he knows what is waiting for him within.

The stream of government employees leads him through the doors into a vast, echoing hall. With increasing dread, Ben joins the line for a row of flashing kiosks along the wall. 

When he reaches the front, Ben pulls out his wallet, leafs past Kylo Ren's identification card and, for the first time in a decade, pulls out the one bearing his birth name. 

It is over too quickly for anyone else to see. When the machine spits out a badge, he snatches it from the tray and stuffs Ben Solo's ID back into his pocket.

_ Sub-level 3, _ reads the laminated card.  _ Designation Services. _

Ben's jaw twitches. Of course they would be hidden away in the basement.

Clutching his badge in an iron grip, Ben breaks off from the crowd streaming toward the elevators and instead heads to the stairs. Just the thought of tolerating the stench of all those bodies in an enclosed space is enough to make his stomach churn.

When he opens the door to the stairwell, however, he finds himself arrested by a very different kind of scent. 

And this one… is not unpleasant.

Far from it, in fact. 

For an endless moment, Ben hovers in the dark mouth of the doorway. Every ounce of frenetic energy in his body seems to have stilled, all the way down to the marrow in his bones. He stands there, suspended—a creature stunned by the waves of sensation washing over him. The effect is as potent as that of a sedative. From the last coherent corner of his mind, he might wonder if he's been drugged—if he weren't completely certain of the source of his reaction. 

There is an Alpha here. He knows this instinctively, the way he knows the scent of his mother’s hair. He has never encountered an Alpha remotely like this before, of course—the scent of an unmated Alpha usually worms its way under his skin like an unwelcome intruder, crawling and itching at instincts Ben prefers not to act upon.

This Alpha is nothing like that.

He sways a little on his feet, inhaling. Amber and earth. A touch of sharp cinnamon. It washes over him, soothing and calm, and Ben’s fingers squeeze involuntarily around the doorknob. 

“I sent three emails this morning. No response yet. Probably still licking their wounds.” 

A woman’s voice floats up the stairwell. There is a slight British lilt to it. Ben cannot resist a few unsteady steps forward, suddenly consumed with the need to have a closer look.

“Yes. This afternoon. I know.” 

She is standing on the landing directly below. Ben has never been very capable of doing anything stealthily—he is too large to go unnoticed for long—but he attempts to keep his footsteps quiet anyway as he moves toward the stair railing.

Her back is to him. Even so, he can make out the slim shape of her, leaning against the wall. She’s got a phone to her ear. Between her professional dress and the official badge dangling from her hip, Ben determines that she must work here.

“It shouldn’t take long.” A pause. “I’ll keep you updated.”

With a surge of panic, he realizes that she is hanging up the phone. A heavy sigh travels up the stairs to him. She is upset, he realizes. His heart skips with the desire to—to do what? To  _ comfort _ her? Ben clenches his jaw, attempting to locate his common sense. This woman is a complete stranger to him. Even if she would accept such a gesture, Ben wouldn’t have the first idea about what he could possibly offer her.

There is the click of high heels, and Ben realizes with fresh terror that she is  _ coming up the stairs. _

He hardly has time to leap back from the railing before she is rounding the turn and then—freezing. Staring at him.

Everything suddenly shifts. The air. The fine hairs on the back of his neck. When her eyes find his face, Ben feels utterly naked before her. Like she already sees everything there is to know about him. 

Her head tilts, eyes darkening, and Ben knows there is nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman right now.

“Omega,” she breathes.

It’s been years— _ years _ since someone has called him that word. The last person to do so walked away from him with a broken nose. Since then, a decade of experimental suppressants provided by Snoke has ensured no one else would make the same mistake.

But Ben… he somehow doesn’t mind it like this. Coming from her pretty mouth. A pleasant shudder courses through him, and his hand curls around the badge even tighter.

She seems to mistake his reaction for offense. Blinking, she gives a quick shake of her head. “Sorry. That was—inappropriate.”

“It’s all right.”  _ Don’t fret, Alpha. You could do nothing wrong. _

When she looks at him again, her eyes have narrowed with suspicion. “How long have you been standing there?”

He considers lying. He could never lie to her. “A few minutes.”

“A bit rude,” she says, “eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.”

She is walking up the stairs now. He wonders if she is drawn to him in the same way he is to her. Or if she is going to report him for infringing on her privacy. 

He finds both options equally terrifying.

“Are you lost?” she asks.

_ I’ll follow you wherever you take me. To the ends of the earth and then right off the edge, if you wished it. _ “Do you work here?”

“Yes. You didn’t answer my question.”

She comes to stop in front him. She is quite tall for a woman. Of course, Ben is even taller—she only reaches his shoulders. He thinks he would get down on his knees for her, if she asked him to.

“I’m not,” he says, very softly. “Lost.”

“So you were standing here on purpose, then. Listening to me.” 

“I…” Ben’s tongue feels a little numb in his mouth. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“How considerate.”

Ben thinks she is being sarcastic, but he isn't sure. His body is sending him a thousand different signals right now, and very few of them have to do with anything coming out of her mouth.

“It’s too bad,” she goes on, almost to herself. “I would have liked to take you, wherever it is you're going.”

“Too bad,” he repeats. He doesn’t know what else to say. There’s nothing for him to do but stand there, stupidly. Staring at her.

“Don’t get lost again.”

He’s not sure what he expects. For her to put her hands on him, maybe. To pin him against the wall the ways Alphas do in these situations, when they’ve found a willing Omega. This is why the codes exist. This is why the government is the exclusive arbitrator of matches between the designations. Because they are no more than slaves to their biological urges—a line Ben has repeated many times, face tight with disgust—but has never experienced up-close and personal, the way he is now. It is overpowering. Intoxicating. A bloodthirsty hunger that overpowers all rational thought. 

He thinks he might slaughter a hundred men for this Alpha, if she asked him too.

She doesn’t ask for him to do that. She doesn’t put her hands on him, either. She simply steps around him, heels echoing in the vast space of the stairwell as she walks away.

Ben watches her go until the door shuts behind her.

_ Fuck. _

He leans back against the wall, forehead suddenly hot and clammy. The urge to chase after her is—overwhelming. Intolerable, even _. _ Ben forces himself to breathe through it with his eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the flow of air in and out of his nostrils.

Little by little, the urge begins to pass.

This. This is why Snoke is so righteous in his crusade. It’s why the designated must be divided from one another and the rest of the world—why society will be better off when it is able to breed them out all together.

Ben has a lot of work to do before then. And he refuses to allow such weakness to get in his way.

Gathering his composure, he resumes his journey down the stairs toward sub-level three. In a strange way, he’s grateful for the encounter. Even if it’s left him a little rattled.

It will be easier to make this Alpha despise him now that he’s found one he actually likes.


	2. Greeting

The room stinks of bleach and miserable Omegas.

Ben needs to hold his breath as he waits in line. He’s standing between a woman bulging with pups and a frail girl who seems to be hours away from her heat. Perhaps no more than twenty years old, her hair is soaked with sweat, and she keeps whimpering, shifting on her feet in front of him.

“My mate,” she’s saying, “he didn’t want me on suppressants. He won’t give them to me.”

The stern Beta behind the counter looks distinctly unimpressed. “Then he should see you through your heat.”

“He’s _away,”_ the girl whines. “Please, if you could just give me a few days’ worth—just to get me through—”

“Not possible without the permission of your Alpha.”

Fat tears are starting to roll down her cheeks. “Please, miss. You don’t know what it’s like.”

The Beta leans over so that she can look at Ben. “Next.”

The girl has started to sob. For a moment, Ben wonders if she is going to start yelling at the pinched-face woman behind the counter. He certainly would be.

But she only turns away, sniveling. Arms wrapped around her tiny body, she makes her way to the exit.

It’s not in their nature to argue, after all.

Feeling significantly more agitated, Ben steps toward the counter, where the Beta is still watching him expectantly.

“I have an appointment.”

“We don’t make appointments.”

Jaw clenching, Ben pulls the envelope from his pocket. He slaps the slip of paper down on the counter.

“Oh. One of _those.”_ The woman seems even less impressed than she was with the wailing Omega on the edge of her heat. “You’ll be in the greeting room. Down the hall, through the double doors, first room on your left.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me who it is?”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

“The Alpha,” Ben says through gritted teeth. “My _match.”_

“Not possible without the permission of your Alpha,” she repeats in the same tired tone that she directed toward the girl.

“I don’t _have_ an Alpha.”

“You do now.”

She hands him back the summons, and he snatches it from her dark red fingernails.

* * *

It’s fifteen minutes past eleven, and Ben is still sitting here. Alone.

The _greeting room_ turned out to be a collection of chairs, a table and an aging leather couch. Ben is currently seated on the latter piece of furniture, feeling grateful, at least, that it reeks slightly less of bleach in here.

He doesn’t have much else to be grateful for right now.

For the twentieth time, he pulls the summons from his pocket. Just to make sure. The date, the time, his name—everything is the same. Not to mention the long list of consequences that should befall him were he not to appear for his _greeting._

Ben considers the consequences Snoke will unleash upon him if he isn’t finished with this in time for the afternoon talk shows. Eight years in behavioral training seems only slightly worse at this point.

His leg is starting to bounce again. Leaning back against the shitty leather, Ben returns to repeating his mantra. It will be simple. He is not anyone’s idea of a good mate. This asshole of an Alpha will walk inside, take one look at him and—

The door opens.

Ben can’t remember his mantra.

He can’t remember anything at all, because the Alpha that’s walking through the door is—no, it can’t be—

“It’s you.”

She remembers him. The girl from the stairs. They only spoke a few minutes ago, but she remembers.

Some small part of him _preens_ at the idea that he left an impression on her of any kind. There are other things to remember—things _he_ should be remembering—but all Ben can do is sit there, dumbstruck by her presence. For the second time in an hour.

“The eavesdropper.” She narrows her eyes, and just as quickly, Ben feels himself deflate.

“I wasn’t.”

“Of course you weren’t.” She doesn’t sound like she believes him. “You’re Ben Solo, then.”

God. The sound of her voice, her _accent,_ saying his name—Ben shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it. “No. I mean—yes.”

“You aren’t sure?”

 _I am Kylo Ren._ “I am,” he says softly. “It’s Ben.”

“Ben.” Her voice—fuck, she’s going to kill him if she keeps doing that. Speaking to him. “Ben the eavesdropper.”

His mind is still struggling to catch up as she closes the door. She looks younger than she did in the stairwell, now that he can see her. It was too dark there for him to make out the smattering of freckles across her nose—or the quiet ferocity in her eyes, blazing and dark. There must be some kind of mistake. This girl—she is too young, she is too fierce, she is—

Lovely. This Alpha is lovely. Beautiful, even.

“Your name,” he says, a bit hoarsely. “What’s your name?”

“They didn’t tell you that?” Outrage briefly flashes across her face, and Ben finds that he likes it. Very much so. “I’m Rey.”

_Rey._

Yes.

He feels her name on his tongue like it’s been waiting there all his life. Though that isn’t even possible, logistically—what the _fuck_ is the matter with him—because she looks considerably younger than he is. Several years, if not even more than that.

Before he can stop himself, he hears himself ask, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

He lets out a slow breath. It explains, at least, why he has gone so many years without the damning red slip in his mailbox.

When he doesn’t respond, Rey’s eyes start to narrow.

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” he says quickly.

_I will never allow you to have any more problems for the rest of your days._

She approaches him slowly. Sizing him up. Ben is struck with the same sensation as before, like her eyes are piercing straight through him. Distantly, he remembers that there is something he’s supposed to be doing—something that doesn’t involve gaping at her like a lovesick fool. But before he can piece these thoughts together, she speaks again.

“You look familiar.”

He swallows thickly. “I—saw you before. On the stairs.”

“Obviously.” Rey snorts. “But before then. We haven’t met?”

“No.” He is sure he would remember her face if he’d seen it before. He would certainly remember the sensation, at least, of looking at her—like the earth has completely disappeared from beneath his feet and he is falling, endlessly, with nowhere to go.

But maybe she _has_ seen him before. On television, perhaps, railing against the designations and their weaknesses. Or speaking at a protest, surrounded by Betas.

All at once, he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing.

“This is a mistake.”

Making her way across the room, Rey pauses. “Excuse me?”

“I am not in need of an Alpha.”

She goes completely still. “Do you mean to say… there is another…?”

“No, no—of course not.” It’s illegal, what she’s suggesting, but he also has the inexplicable urge to reassure her. He’s not sure why—he’s never going to see this woman again, after all. Even if that thought makes his stomach twist unexpectedly in knots. “I’m... not taking a mate.”

It makes him sick, to say these words. He didn’t expect it to be so difficult. He also didn’t expect Rey’s reaction—the flash of resentment across her pretty features.

“Yeah, well, neither was I.”

Disappointment washes over him. He should be relieved. Ecstatic, even. This is what he hoped for.

His Alpha doesn't want him.

“Then I’ll be on my way.” He is unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. When he starts to rise, however, he is immediately halted by Rey’s expression.

“Sit down. We’re not done yet.”

And, inexplicably, Ben listens to her.

Rey does not seem to have any intention of doing the same. “I’m not happy about this either.” She begins to pace, her heels clicking across the laminate. Ben definitely does not allow himself to look at her legs, dark and slim in her nylons. “But we don't have any choice.”

 _“I_ don't have any choice.”

She pauses. “What?”

“You have all the power in this situation,” Ben says, gritting his teeth. “It is completely up to you to walk away from it.”

“Is that what you’d like? For me to walk away?”

She is looking at him again, her face openly curious. Ben’s not sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

“I’m not looking for an Alpha.”

A noise of amused disbelief. Her pacing has halted, and she tilts her head, truly studying him now. “Ben Solo. You are… not what I was expecting.”

He can’t help but flinch. “Of course.”

“Not like that.” She seems to recognize his offense, because she softens her tone. “Just that you’re—not like the other Omegas I’ve met.”

There’s that word again. He needs to shut his eyes for a moment so that he doesn’t lash out at her. “Never met an Alpha like you before, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” When he opens his eyes, he finds her bristling.

“Just that you’re…” Ben’s gaze flicks down her body. His ears start to burn. Why does she have to smell so damn _good?_ “I’ve never been—attracted. To other Alphas.”

Rey tilts her head again, looking thoughtful. "But you're attracted to me."

She says it like it's a fact, not a question.

Ben's ears are definitely burning now.

"Rey." He needs to pause, because saying her name—it feels so _good._ He wants to say it over and over again. While she's naked, maybe. Bouncing in his lap. _Where the hell did_ that _come from?_

"You have to understand," he tries again, his voice rougher. "This is a mistake."

She doesn't seem to be listening. Her eyes have drifted to his neck. "You smell... _really_ good." A deep inhale, and her pupils dilate. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

No, in fact. They haven’t. He hasn’t met a single person in the past decade who has been able to smell anything on him at all, never mind look at him the way Rey is looking at him right now.

“I can smell what you're thinking about, you know,” she says, very quietly. “The things you want to do with me.”

Oh. Oh _god._ “You’re mistaken,” he says, because she has to be. Because this isn't going to end well for either of them if she can sense how much his body is already responding to her.

And it is responding. It’s responding in ways he did not know it was capable of. The room is growing saturated with her scent, and it’s  _doing_ things to him. The smell of her. Ben tries to look away, because the longer he stares at her, the more images his mind keeps producing of all the ways she could take care of him, this Alpha that is his perfect match. How good it would feel to pleasure her.

 _Fuck_ , does he want to pleasure her.

“You’re very distracting.” She is breathing a little faster, across the room. “For someone who doesn't want a mate.”

“I don't want a mate,” he repeats, too hoarsely.

“But you want other things.” Fuck, _fuck_ , she is walking toward him again. “It’s hard for you to think clearly, isn't it? With all the things you want.”

It's hard for him to think clearly with her here. In the same room. Breathing the same air as him. With her long legs and her soft accent and her delicate little hands that would look so _good_ curling around his—

She halts. Directly in front of him. Ben could reach out and touch her hips, if she’d let him.

“I need you to be thinking _very_ clearly for this conversation, Omega.”

A shudder courses through him. He closes his eyes. “I am.”

“You’re not. Look at me.”

Ben opens his eyes. He can do nothing else, when she speaks to him that way. He is vaguely aware that his hands are fisting in the cushion at either side of him. White-knuckled.

“I can feel how difficult this is for you,” Rey says softly. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

The brush of her hand against his cheek is tender. Achingly soft. Wildly disproportionate to all the things his body wants to do to her right now.

“I’ll help you.” Her fingers trail across his lips, and they part for her, involuntarily. The way his entire being longs to split open for her right now. To let her pour every blazing ounce of herself inside him. “Let me help you.”

“We still need to talk,” Ben says hoarsely.

“We do.” Her eyes are nearly liquid with desire. “Let me take care of you first.”

“And then we’ll talk.”

She bites her lip. “I have… an office. On the fourteenth floor. We could go there.”

This is—ridiculous. Utter insanity. He knows nothing about this girl. Fifteen minutes ago, he was dreading even meeting her. Struggling to figure out how he was going to leave as quickly as possible.

Her finger brushes over his bottom lip again.

Snoke is going to fucking kill him.

“All right.” Ben stands up quickly, before he can change his mind. It should make him feel better, how much larger he is. Like he is more in control.

It only makes him feel even more helpless, for how close they're now standing to each other.

“Good,” Rey murmurs. “Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to churn out updates for this story every few days so that I can finish before anon comes off at the end of the month 😘  
> Be sure to check out the other amazing fics in [TWD's exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/anniversaryficexchange) while you're around!


	3. Expectation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life caught up with me in a big way this week. Hopefully this makes up for the delay <3

On the journey to her office, panic and reason almost conspire to make him call this off.

There is no time for this. For _her._ Especially not today, when he should have already appeared on at least three morning shows defending his life's work to the rabid masses. In a far corner of his mind, rational thought flails like an insect caught in molasses. He needs to remember what he came here for. Why this is a terrible idea.

He needs to remember who he _is._

But even if he were capable of walking away _(his body is compelled to do nothing but follow her,_ _this alpha who was designed to fit him, to complete him_ _),_ Ben is not even sure if he would want to do so. And that might be the most frightening part of all.

It is worse—all of it is worse—when they finally arrive in her office.

The first thing he notices, of course, is her scent. The room is drenched in it. Overflowing. Like the dew point here is too low for the potency of her—air too thin to contain the pheromones that soak every molecule of this room, thick and honey-like all around him.

There are other things he notices too. A fleeting handful of observations crosses his awareness—she is important enough to have her own office, but junior enough for the space to be small. The photo frames on her desk are still full of too-large smiles of the false families who occupied their borders when she purchased them—she either hasn't been here long, or she is struggling to find anyone important enough to fill them.

Ben can relate. A visitor to his own office will find no photo frames, empty or otherwise, sitting on his desk.

But mostly he is unable to focus too long on anything but the girl. His match. His Alpha. His mind is buzzing with phrases he has only ever used with derision, now pulsing through him like he's been whispering them every day of his life. A language that he's learned in the space of a glance, looking at her for the first time—or one he knew and forgot long ago.

It is telling him to do a hundred different things right now. None of which he should be thinking about—not when he came here to deny her. A laughable assumption, at this point, that he could deny this woman anything. So Ben only stands there, paralyzed by indecision and drowning in the smell of her, as she closes the door behind them.

"We don't need to do anything here," she says, still standing near the door. "Nothing needs to happen, if you don't want it to."

Ben's heart trips over itself in his chest. “I still don’t know what you want.”

"Only to talk," she says. "And maybe some other things too. If you need them."

"And what of your needs?"

The question comes from out of nowhere—or perhaps from some deep, unspeakable part of him that longs to please her.

"We'll get to those," she says evenly.

Ben doesn't like that. He doesn't like how little he understands of this woman. He learned early on the importance of understanding the desires of one's opponent. Because everyone is an opponent—another equally important life lesson, imparted by Snoke.

He turns around. His indignation dies on his tongue.

The way she is examining him... she doesn't seem like an opponent.

And a deep-rooted, shuddering part of him knows exactly what she desires. It is the same part that has been constructed to fit her—that responds to each shift in her scent, in her expression, as though they were his own. The part that is hungry to satisfy her.

"We find ourselves in a very peculiar position, Ben Solo."

Ben swallows, trying to find his voice. "Help me understand our position, then."

"Do you have any idea of how difficult it is? Trying to get by as an unmated Alpha?"

"I know better than you think," he says, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

"Well, it doesn't have to be like that." Her voice softens. "We could help each other, you and I."

"I've never needed anyone's help."

"Sounds pretty lonely."

This word strikes something deep and hollow in his breast. Ben turns to look down at her desk. Unable to answer.

"How long has it been?"

She says it casually. Like they are discussing the models posing in her photo frames, or how busy the Center is today.

"Excuse me?"

"You seem a little..." The click of her heels behind him announces her approach, until she is standing just behind him. "Tense."

Ben thinks of his past decade of unwilling abstinence, the suffocating fear that claws up his chest whenever he imagines that someone might discover his designation. "It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"A long time," he snaps. "It's been... a long time."

He closes his eyes, feeling shameful. Inadequate. He is always inadequate. Even in this.

But Rey does not seem displeased. In fact, he can feel the air prickling around him with her pleasure at this admission. It makes his skin feel hot. Too tight for his long, ungainly frame.

"That explains it," she says quietly. "Why you're all pent up."

He bristles. "I am not _pent up."_

 _"Liar."_ Her fingers dance along the sides of his arms, tracing the muscle through his shirt. All of his breath seems to follow, flooding from his lungs in a helpless attempt to chase her light touches. "Look at the way you're shivering."

"It's winter."

"But you're very warm, Omega," she whispers at his neck. Teasing. "You should see the way your skin flushes. Right at the tips of your ears."

Ben can't keep his eyes open any longer. He squeezes them shut, a vain denial of his humiliation—but it only heightens his perception of her, hovering just behind the long line of his back. His spine is a live wire, registering her every shift in the air. Inches away.

"I'm being cruel," she murmurs. "Teasing you like this."

The words fan over the nape of his neck. He wonders what they'd taste like, breathed into his mouth.

"Then don't tease me," he says.

"I had been hoping for more time to explain today," she says softly. "But I need to leave sooner than expected. So we'll have to choose one or the other."

Ben can hardly process what she's saying. Her fingers have found the buttons of his shirt, and they are playing with them now. On the edge of a decision that has already been made for both of them.

"This weekend, then," she says. "Let me take you to dinner." Hands smooth across his chest. Firm pressure, running over the broad muscle there. "I can explain everything."

“And today?” he says hoarsely. “Where does that leave us today?”

“I think you know exactly what we’ll be doing today.”

Her palms slide down his torso. Ben's face is shamefully hot.

"Turn around."

He turns. Rey looks up at him with dark, liquid eyes, and he realizes with a jolt that she is as intoxicated by this as he is. He isn't sure if this is something wonderful or terrible. Maybe a little bit of both.

"You're trembling."

"I am not."

"It's endearing."

He should be offended by this. Not preening under her gaze. Not wondering in what other ways he can endear himself to this beautiful creature.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” she says. “I like it.”

Rey is moving closer. Or maybe he is the one moving closer to her. Her hands are still resting lightly against his chest. Ben is hyper-aware of them, soft pressure through the fabric of his shirt.

“I like you,” she adds, very quietly.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” Her head tilts. Her eyes flick down his face. “I want your mouth on me.”

_His Alpha wants something of him._

The world seems to constrict to this one reality. The desire she has just expressed of him.

And Ben's response... it is as natural as breathing.

He is leaning down before he understands he is going to kiss her.

It has been inevitable since the moment she saw him in that stairwell. There is a part of him—ancient and primordial, lodged in the deepest center of his mind, the source of his crudest instincts to fight and flee and _fuck_ —that knew this was where this was heading as soon as he breathed in the smell of her.

But it is… a little awkward, at first. Ben has not kissed anyone in years, and his lips feel clumsy and out of practice against the perfection of her mouth. His nose is too big. She is too soft, too small against him.

Rey presses a smile to his lips. She slips a hand into his hair, fisting the other at his shirt.

She shows him how.

As soon as she takes control, the kiss shifts, and the world with it—a dizzying union of heat and scent and Alpha on his tongue. This— _this_ is what he’s been wanting. What he’s needed. He is vaguely aware that she’s pushing him against the desk. That he should feel trapped. But it doesn’t feel like a vulnerability, opening his mouth to the wet slide of her tongue, hot and curious against his lips. It doesn’t feel like a concession to let her taste him.

 _God,_ does he want her to taste him.

Rey makes a noise into his mouth—something like need, or maybe hunger—and then she’s pressing harder against his body, all lean muscle and slender limbs. Licking at his tongue. This demonstration of her pleasure—it makes his head spin, the room tilting and swaying around him. She wants him. _Alpha wants him._ But she holds him upright, an anchor in these seething and unfamiliar waters. Her palms slide down his chest again—but rather than their previous explorations, lazy and unhurried, they now move with clear and confident purpose.

Seeking something.

Ben has always prided himself on his self-control. On his ability to sit silently and take whatever verbal punishment Snoke feels appropriate to hurl at him that day. But his responses to this woman’s touch spill out of him like something hot and volcanic—his hands clutching at her blazer, his breath stuttering and tripping in his lungs. The noises—god, the _noises_ he’s making—low and desperate, as her fingers slide to his waist and start to undo his belt.

“May I?”

He hardly has the presence to mind to realize that she’s stopped kissing him. That she’s looking up at him now, dark and hungry, waiting for his answer.

“Yes." The words rush out of him. “God, yes. Whatever you want.”

A breathless noise of amusement passes over her lips. She slides her hand lower, lower—until her palm covers the hot, shameful length of him, protruding against his slacks.

“And this?” She rubs, very purposefully, up and down. Slow. Firm. “What if this is what I want?”

“You can have it,” he says raggedly. He doesn’t know how he is still breathing. “Anything. Please.”

Her fingers tug at his zipper, briefly relieving the pressure—and then—oh fuck oh _fuck—_ immediately replaces it with her fingers. He definitely isn't breathing now. There is no air left for him to take. She pulls him out of his pants, pushing them down his hips, and Ben feels himself pulse, desperately, in the prison of her fingers.

 _“Omega,”_ she breathes. Her eyes are very dark, drinking him in. “Look at you.”

She curls her fist loosely around his erection. Gives it a long, lazy pump. A pathetic sound is wrenched from Ben's throat, tight with desire.

"Let's take care of this, hmm?"

He can only sit there, fixed to the edge of her desk, this woman he has known for all of fifteen minutes—his throbbing cock in her hand—as he allows her to completely unravel him. Because that's how he feels. Her grip is the sweetest torture around him, this Alpha with her delicate fingers and her wicked smile, stroking and teasing the pleasure from his body—and Ben is unraveled, and helpless, and completely hers.

"We'll meet this weekend," she murmurs, kissing his jaw as she strokes and _strokes_ and— "We can arrange everything then. I'll make things good for you. You'll see."

Her wrist has started to twist with each upstroke, sharp and delicious friction. It sparks white stars at the corners of his vision.

"This will feel so good when I let you fuck me with it."

Ben hisses through his teeth, fingers spasming, and her scent spikes with satisfaction in response. He can smell how much she enjoys this—her pleasure in his nostrils and his fingernails and deep in the marrow of his bones.

"Is that what you're thinking about?" she asks at his throat. "Fucking me?" Her tone is almost accusatory. It makes a fissure of panic course through him.

"No," he rasps. Unsure of the right answer. Unsure of anything but the hand that works and works at him.

"Oh, I see." Her mouth curls in a wicked little smile, and she leans up to his ear. "Are you the kind that wants to be filled up instead?"

Ben groans, a deep, guttural sound. He knows in that moment he would let this woman do anything, anything at all—strip him, touch him, lick him, fill him—

"What a good Omega you'll be." There is some dark satisfaction in her voice as she tightens her grip, increases her rhythm. "You won't want for anything—god, yes, look at you, you're already almost—"

He should feel shame, for how quickly he loses control of himself. For how helpless he is to the sensation of her hand, her mouth, her _scent oh god her scent_ pouring over him, hurtling him inevitably to his climax. But all he can feel is the shape of her body, flush against his as she works him over the edge of blinding ecstasy.

Many moments later, he leans against the desk, panting, while Rey cleans him with a tissue. Tucks him away, as though this is the most normal thing in the world. Like they've done this a thousand times before.

Rey steps back and surveys him, biting her lip. "Got a bit carried away there."

"It's okay," Ben says. It comes out like a croak.

But she looks nervous. Regretful, even. "I don't usually... do this sort of thing. But you were just so... I wasn’t thinking about anything but—"

He kisses her. More gently, this time. Their mouths already seem to know each other, and when he pulls away, she is a little pink in the cheeks.

"I liked it," he murmurs in the space between their lips.

Her throat works as she swallows. "Good. Because I'd—like to do that again. This weekend, maybe." She keeps biting her lip. It's charming. "After I explain everything."

"You keep saying that."

"It's important." Rey frowns. "You are... not what I expected, Ben Solo."

"You keep saying that too."

A loud and sudden buzzing vibrates across the desk behind him, making him jump. Her eyes drift over his shoulder, and she swears colorfully.

"Shit. I need to go." Her body departs from the space beside his, leaving an odd chill in her wake. She snatches the phone from the desk. Ben glimpses an incoming call just before she silences it.

"You can stay here for a few minutes." Rey pulls a tube of lipstick from her bag, and Ben tries not to stare as she applies it. "Leave your number on my desk. I'll find a place for dinner this weekend."

He watches her, still leaning against her desk. Mouth dry. "I may have... plans, this weekend—"

"Cancel them." She looks up at him sharply, and Ben falls silent. "We need to work out the terms of this arrangement."

Her tone is strangely transactional to describe a continuation of... whatever it was that just happened between them. But he doesn't argue. He already knows with disturbing certainty that he would make any number of excuses to Snoke in order to see this woman again.

Rey steps back around the desk, straightening her blazer. She looks... strangely vulnerable, when her eyes find his face. Young. "Thank you for meeting me today."

If she were anyone else, Ben would assume she were mocking him. He had no choice but to come here. The letter in his pocket made that abundantly clear.

"You're welcome," he says, believing her.

Her face brightens with her smile. Genuine and radiant, like everything else about her. "I look forward to learning more about you, Ben Solo."

It's not until she leaves that the meaning of these words sink in. Followed quickly by the depth of his failure. Not only did he neglect to make her despise him, but he's already agreed to see her again. To _extend their arrangement._ Where he will doubtlessly have to explain what he does for a living.

Ben buries his hot face in his hands, alone in an office that smells like the best Alpha he's ever met, and says, "Fuck."

* * *

By the time he arrives at the towering spiral of the station's recording studio, the cold tide of reality has started to creep back in. It eats away at the blissful haze in which Rey has left him, returning him to his usual state of self-loathing and frustration.

_What has he done?_

There is no time to dwell on it now. Hux is waiting for him in the lobby, wearing a striped suit and looking extremely impatient.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Ben's fingertips tingle with the memory of freckled skin. "It doesn't matter," he snaps, not sparing Hux a glance as he strides past him. "How bad is it?"

"How _bad_ is it?" Hux gives a half-hysterical peal of laughter. "They're vultures, Ren. Circling our rotting carcass. Picking at the bones. It's past noon. What could have possibly been so important—?"

The elevator doors slide open, and Ben steps inside, seething. "It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't matter!" Hux slams on the elevator button and steps directly in front of him, his furious face nearly as red as his hair. Ben looks fixedly over his head. "You'd better come up with something more convincing than that, because Snoke will have your fucking _head_ if you don't fix this."

"Let me worry about my fucking head," Ben says through clenched teeth. "I will fix this."

The doors slide open to a flurry of activity. Ben doesn't pause for any of it. He is a familiar enough face in these corridors that no one attempts to stop them, parting like water as he strides with purpose down the corridor.

"They have you on in five minutes," Hux prattles uselessly behind him, struggling to keep up. "You'll be doing it with that new anchor. Mitaka."

Ben nearly breathes a sigh of relief. Mitaka is an easy interviewer. He never presses Ben too hard.

"Along with someone from Skywalker's office."

His bad mood abruptly becomes much worse. "No. I didn't agree to that."

"Then perhaps you should have gotten here earlier." Hux is starting to sound a bit out of breath as they round the corner, through a pair of double doors with an unlit sign that reads: _LIVE._

Mitaka waits for them just inside, looking anxious and damp. His expression immediately brightens when he sees them. "Ah! Mr. Ren! You're just in time—we were just about to—"

"I do this alone," Ben interrupts him, seething, "or I don't do it at all."

Mitaka's face falls. "I am—afraid that's not possible, Mr. Ren. We're about to go on air."

"You'll have to make it possible, or you'll be going on air without me."

Mitaka glances behind him, where his producers are crowded over a screen, and then leans toward Ben, dropping his voice. "It's only a junior staffer. Still testing the waters. If anything, it will look good for your... position."

"Our _position,"_ Ben says evenly, "has never been better. And I don't need one of Skywalker's little assholes interrupting me every few words to prove that."

"Mr. Ren. Please. Everything has already been arranged."

"Then _unarrange it."_ Ben crowds over the smaller man, fury descending over him like a dark cloud. "Today is not the day to fuck with me, Mitaka. You have no idea what kind of morning I've had. Either I do this alone, or I will _break_ you and whatever Skywalker minion you've dredged up, _on air_ , so that no one will want to come on your miserable fucking show ever again."

He realizes, with a spike of rage, that Mitaka is not cowering the way he should be. In fact, he is not looking at Ben at all. Rather, he is directing a rather wan smile over his shoulder. Toward the doors.

It’s happening again. He’s losing control. Clenching his jaw, Ben closes his eyes and tries to breathe. Oddly, he thinks of the girl this morning—of her scent, like fresh earth and amber, all around him. Soothing him.

He can smell her like she is still here with him.

"Ms. Johnson! So glad that you could join us." Mitaka isn't talking to him anymore. Ben finds he doesn't care. He is still distracted by the memory of Rey. Her hair. Her smell.

Her voice.

Right behind him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

Ben's eyes fly open.

She is here. Standing in the door. Her lips are still red with the color Ben watched her apply half an hour ago. The same mouth that kissed him and whispered in his ear.

It is parted now in shock. Her breath is coming quickly. Ben blinks, feeling completely off guard. Did she follow him? Has she already changed her mind? Why is she here?

"Two minutes!" someone shouts.

"Mr. Ren, this is Rey Johnson. The staffer from Skywalker's office."

Mitaka gestures to the woman who had her hands all over his body half an hour ago. Ben can hardly hear him. He can't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears—the sound of her breath, a few feet away.

"Ms. Johnson, this is Kylo Ren."


End file.
